


Fate = Apocalypse

by MyMuseHatesMe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Dark, Mind Games, Multi, Self-Harm, Stalking, Swearing, Unhappy Ending, self harm is at the end, the apocalypse happens but it wasn't the one everybody was expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMuseHatesMe/pseuds/MyMuseHatesMe
Summary: Michael and Lucifer got their  true vessels and the apocalypse is in full swing.  Except… Michael and  Lucifer aren’t fighting - they’re working together to slowly cleanse  the Earth of the virus known as humanity.  This is your story, surviving  in the aftermath.
Relationships: Lucifer/You, Michael/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. [August 5th, 2016]

The world is awash in orange and yellow. Summer heat fades into cool air as the sun slowly disappears.

 _‘Dean would have loved this,’_ you think, _‘Windows down, AC/DC blaring, beautiful sunset, nothing but fields and open road…’_ You clear your throat and shake your head to banish the thought from your head, blinking away the threat of tears. The sleek black of the Impala streaks across the quiet, dusty landscape, the music and the rumble of the engine being the only sound keeping your mind at a pleasant white noise level.

When the sun falls halfway below the horizon, you pull over and turn off the engine as well as the radio. You sit for a few moments in the stillness before reaching over into your bag and pulling out the leather-bound notebook and pen you lifted from a _Books ‘n Boons_ store about three hours back. _‘Fuck it,’_ you think acidly, _‘End times and all.’_

Throwing open the door, you get out and lean against the warm metal of the car as you open the blank book and click the pen open. You take in a breath and begin to write.

_On the road again. I feel like I keep driving further every day._

You scoff and tap your pen against the page.

_This is supposed to be dramatic, right? Surviving the apocalypse - gotta be gritty, gotta be down-to-earth, yeah?_

_Sorry, I just don’t see the point._

Pausing again, you sigh and roll your eyes, giving into the desire you were mocking moments ago.

_Fine._

_It wasn’t supposed to be this be this way. This was not supposed to happen._

_Dean and Sam were supposed to fight Michael and Lucifer, not give in to them. They were supposed to fight and leave us the hell alone, not join up and reshape this world._

_Was the world crappy? Yes. Was it unfair? Definitely. Did bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people? Yuuup. Did we commit terrible crimes against each other, to the creatures we shared this planet with, and to the Earth itself? You already know the answer._

_But it was ours. Our world. Ours to fight for, ours to hope for, and strive to be better for._

_Now it’s theirs. Michael’s and Lucifer’s. They’ve taken it over. Humans are just a virus that need to be taken care of – so a virus is what they gave us. Someone called it Croatoan and it stuck. Look at this: In 2012, the human population was 7 billion people. A bunch of analysts got together recently and took an unofficial census._

_On June 29_ _th_ _, their results were that the human population was at about 3.2 billion._

_Over half of us are gone._

Your stomach hollows as you write those words. Every week, on the same radio frequency, for the same three hours as always, the same people got on the air and broadcasted the world news.

That was the one of the few things that kept you grounded these days.

_I don’t know what I’m going to do when I turn to that station and there’s nothing there._

_I truly don’t._

You let the ink dry before snapping the book shut and throwing it and the pen back in your bag. You start up the Impala and start driving again as the air temperature steadily drops.


	2. [Aug 14th, 2016]

__ _ I suppose you want to know what happened with Sam and Dean beyond, ‘Oh, they’re not here anymore! I miss them so! How selfish of them!’ Cause that’s stupid and not at all what happened. _

__ _ They made a sacrifice that they shouldn’t have had to make. They shouldn’t have been asked to make that sacrifice, it shouldn’t have been something that was needed. _

__ _ They’ve made enough sacrifices; they’ve bled enough, they’ve suffered enough, they’ve seen enough, they’ve killed enough… they’ve earned some peace and quiet. _

__ _ Peace and quiet, not the vessels of archangels that want to cleanse the world of all forms of evil. _

Sam and Dean had made up their minds and no amount of arguing would convince them otherwise. They had safeguards in place, of course. Castiel had made sure the carvings on your ribs were ‘up to specs’ – as he put it, trying to use the lingo he had been learning from the Winchesters.

All four of you went to Detroit, since you absolutely refused to let them go without you. The car ride was tense, but the music helped and the conversations veered all over the place so that helped, too.

__ _ If I say it didn’t give me closure, I’m not lying. It wasn’t like sending them off to their next hunt, and it wasn’t like watching them leave for their execution. It was… almost somewhere in between the two. _

__ _ I didn’t like it then and I still don’t like it. _

The last of the sun’s rays were dying when you all arrived at the hotel. Castiel said that Michael and Lucifer were waiting on the fifth floor. The first thing Sam did when you got out of the car was pull you into a bear hug. You’d never admit it, but his hugs always made you feel better – and right then, you needed one of his hugs.

When he pulled away, Dean was waiting for you. He gave you a hug and then held out the Impala keys to you.

Your face dropped and you looked up at him. “No,” you said, shaking your head, “No, I can’t take those-”

“Y/N,” he chastised gently, deliberately patient, “I want you to have these.”

“Dean, I can’t-”

“Look at me.” He stepped forward quickly, snatching your hand and pressing the keys into your palm firmly before closing your fingers around them. “When we walk into that building,” he said in a low, serious tone, giving you a look that conveyed his fear and his need for you to do as he said, “you are gonna get in that car,” pointing to the Impala, “you are gonna drive away and you are gonna keep your head down, you hear me?” He waited a moment, jaw working as his words set in.

You took in a breath and nodded.

“As  _ soon _ as we walk into that building,” he repeated firmly, gripping your shoulder tightly, “you are gone. You hear me? This town is gonna be dust in the rearview mirror. Understand?”

You looked over at Sam, only to see the same expression on his face as Dean’s. He gave you a nod to let you know he wanted you to do as Dean told you.

_ It was, in a sense, a goodbye, but… it didn’t feel like one. It felt like… _

It hurt. Your throat was dry. So dry, but you swallowed anyway. Your head felt like stone, but you nodded anyway.

_ It felt like sending the One Ring to Mordor in an envelope with an instruction packet for a random orc to carry out the instructions. Very, very low chance of it happening as you hope it will.  _

__ _ Very, very high chance of it going terribly wrong and unleashing the greatest evil this world has ever known. _

Castiel went with them. You got in the car as soon as you couldn’t see them beyond the glass in the doors anymore. Even though you were nearly out of the city, you saw a bright light from the hotel.

When the light faded, you were pressing the gas pedal to the floor.

_ That was back in April. They've been busy since then. _


	3. [Aug 19th, 2016]

_Dear Diary: Today fucking sucks._

_The only thing that redeemed it was the songs on the radio. I can’t get ‘Sweet Dreams’ out of my head now._

_Sweet Dreams are made of this / Who am I to disagree?_

_Travel the world and the seven seas / Everybody’s looking for something._

Tears stung as your vision blurred. Filth covered your face, hands, shirt, and jeans. Your boots were ruined, after a few hours traipsing around through a sewer hunting down a skinwalker.

She’d killed twelve people before you stopped her.

Sniffing, you scrubbed at your eyes and continued:

_Do angels dream? Or do they simply_ want _?_

_Tell me. Somebody, please. Tell me._


	4. [Aug 23rd, 2016]

_I’m not sure how to start this… I dreamed about Sam last night. Well… Lucifer, really, but it was Sam, too._

_He said it was a test._

_I don’t know if I passed or not._

It had been a bland day, but tiring nonetheless. For the past week, you felt as though you could not get fully rested. Every morning you woke up tired and every night, you went to bed tired, but no amount of sleep would wipe your slate clean. You simply accepted tired as being your new state of existence.

Coffee didn't help, energy drinks didn't help, and eating canned fruit for every meal sure as hell didn't help, either.

Illinois was flat and dry and boring and you had done nothing but drive, wanting out of the state as soon as possible. You found a motel, did your laundry in the bathtub, stripped down to your underclothes, flopped onto the bed with a huge sigh, and pulled the rough-textured sheet up to your chin. The heat was stifling, but you weren’t going to open a window to provide some relief.

You didn’t drift off until hours later, which ended up being well after midnight.

* * *

“Y/N?”

Your eyes shot open at the whisper in the dark and your fingers were already curled around the handle of the pistol under your pillow. The presence in the room was heavy and dangerous, situated behind you and near the window. Any leftover sluggishness from being suddenly awakened was wiped away with the alarm ringing through your blood. A weight gently settled on the edge of the bed.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the breathing of two people. “Y/N?”

You stopped breathing when you realized whose voice it was. “Sam?” You sat up quickly and turned to face your friend.

His face, already soft with concern, softened further as he sighed and smiled in weary relief. His shoulders sagged as you let go of your weapon and threw yourself into his arms. His chest against your face and his arms that were wrapped around you _felt_ real. And warm and solid.

Reveling in the sensation for a moment, you finally came back to yourself and pushed away from him, looking into his eyes. “How-”

“We’re dreaming,” he answered in a light tone, “both of us are.”

Your lips parted and confusion took hold of your features. Shaking your head, you asked, “How are you here? I thought Lucifer wouldn’t let you take control again, let alone dreamwalk!” You looked around and asked, “Where’s Dean?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m a trial run,” he said softly, “A test to see how well this works.”

Fear gripped your heart. “How well what works?”

He smiled distantly. “Dreamwalking.” 

You swallowed and shifted slightly, putting a small distance between the two of you.

“Tell me where you are.” His voice was soft and compelling, and Sam reached out to swipe his thumb across your lips. Your jaw went slack, and your thoughts became foglike. “Tell me, Y/N,” he whispered, leaning closer to you, eyeing your lips, “where to find you.”

Dragging in a slow breath, you felt the desire to tell him. _His fingertips along your jaw felt warm and pleasant._ It was beyond a desire, it was a _need_. He _needed_ to know, you _needed_ to tell him, he _needed_ to come get you- “No.”

His eyes snapped up to yours and the featherlight fingertips caressing your jaw suddenly tightened and held your face firmly. The softness of Sam was gone. Lucifer’s red eyes flashed and the lines of his face seemed harsher. Then he laughed to himself and smiled widely. He came up to you, invading your personal space and barely brushing the tip of his nose against yours as he lowered his eyes. “Willful. I expected nothing less." He sighed dramatically and then decided, "Well, consider this my gift to you.”

You took in a sharp intake of breath and tried to pull away. Whatever his gift was wasn’t going to be good.

He didn’t let you pull away. Instead, he pulled you closer so that your lips were touching. You’d never been so close to someone that when they spoke, you felt their mouth move against yours. “Wake up.”

* * *

Breathing in deeply, you sat up in the slowly brightening room, suddenly wide awake.

That dream was two days ago.

_Whether or not I passed is irrelevant. I think. I do like my gift, though. Any amount of sleep I get is enough to give me an alert 16 hour day._

_You know, despite Lucifer’s creepiness._

~~_I wonder when Michael’s gonna decide when he needs to pay me a visit._ ~~


	5. [Aug 27th, 2016]

__ _ Accidentally walked into a werewolf den today. They were  _ _ not _ _ happy. _

Snarling. Nails swiping at your throat, missing as you twisted out of the way. Two magazines of silver was used up by the time you were done, four silver blades buried in separate hearts.

__ _ Didn’t die, though. _

You came pretty close to dying. You were covered in blood and limping when you walked out.

__ _ I wish Sam and Dean could have been there. It’s not good to hunt alone. _

__ ~~_ I wish I could stop hunting. _ ~~

__ ~~_ I wish I could stop missing them. _ ~~

__ ~~_ I wish I didn’t keep running awa _ ~~

__ ~~_ I wish they didn’t say ye _ ~~

__ _ Better save those for a djinn, right? _

The page has a few bloodstained fingerprints on it. Your handwriting is shaky and you’re exhausted. You sigh and put the pen down before inspecting your bandages.

They’ll last til the morning.

You crawl into the sleeping bag carefully and lie flat against the creaking leather of the Impala’s backseat.

“Fuckin werewolves,” you mutter before drifting off.


	6. [Sept 8th, 2016]

__ _ Some kids got on the radio today. It was freakin amazing and made my day so much better. _

__ _ They couldn’t have been more than 10 years old, and they just told jokes. _

__ _ \- Why did the chicken cross the road? _

__ _ (idk) _

__ _ \- To get to the idiot’s house. _

__ _ (*gasp* You can’t call someone an idiot, Jules!) _

__ _ \- Knock, knock. _

__ _ (Who’s there?) _

__ _ \- The chicken. _

__ _ (OHHHHHHH.) _

__ _ \- YEAHHHHH. _

_ - _

__ _ \- Hey. You know, yesterday, my sister ate a clock? _

__ _ (Yeah? I’ll bet it was… time consuming.) _

_ - _

__ _ (I’d slap you, but mom says I shouldn’t hit dogs.) _

_ - _

__ _ Then they started panicking when an adult came to check on them. _

__ _ It was a pleasant distraction from all the adrenaline that’s been in my body for the last four days straight. _

__ _ I need to call Bobby. Check up on him. _

__ _ Tomorrow. _


	7. [Sept 9th, 2016]

The pit in your heart keeps growing until you feel like a great, empty… thing.

It turns your stomach, but you can’t very well do anything about it. Can you?

_Called Bobby today. It was something I should have done a while ago, but… I feel so useless now._

“Bobby?”

_“Y/N?”_

“Yeah, I know. It’s been a while.”

_“A while?! I’ve been damn near mourning you three idjits since you left for Detroit and dropped off the map!”_

“I know, I know, listen – I know it’s not safe, so I’ll be quick-”

_“There ain’t no safe in this world anymore, kid.”_

“Heh. Don’t I know it.”

_“You know they’re lookin’ for you.”_

“Yeah. I… I know. That’s why I haven’t called or dropped by.”

His silence was telling. He missed you. He missed Sam and Dean, but he wanted you safe more than he wanted a visit from you.

“Bobby?”

_“Hm?”_

“I can’t imagine they haven’t paid you a visit yet.”

His replying, “Hm,” spoke volumes. They had done more than have a friendly chat with him.

“Bobby. I need to know that you’re safe.”

 _“Kid. There’s no such thing anymore.”_ His voice was a mix of sadness and warning.

You sighed. “Take care of yourself. If… if I lose you, too, I- I don’t know what I’ll do.”

 _“… Stay sharp, Y/N. Call me as a last resort.”_ Then the line went dead as he abruptly hung up on you. _  
_

_He was being watched. Monitored._

_His safety may have been guaranteed if he got me to tell him where I was. Or at least convince me to come visit._

_If any of us deserve to survive, it would be Bobby._


	8. [Sept 13th, 2016]

You ran.

You seem to be running in all your dreams lately. Something chases you through the woods. Something dark, something primal.

Something hungry. 

Always  _ just _ out of earshot, always  _ just _ at your heels, always  _ this fucking close _ to snapping its teeth around your foot and ending the game.

These woods belong to it. Moss-covered rocks and tree trunks, animal skeletons, and a gray sky add to the sinister atmosphere that already exists.

And then. The thing isn’t there anymore.

You stumble to a stop when you realize that. Breathing heavily, you look around for an explanation as to why the thing had stopped. Maybe there is something bigger that scared it off. Something worse.

Thick, white fog drifts ominously through the trees. Turning around and around, you try to see, try to sense what made the creature flee.

Your breath freezes in your lungs when your eyes fall on Dean’s form. His back is to you, he looks straight ahead.

You calm your heartbeat and stand up straight. “Is that Dean or Michael?”

He turns his head first, acknowledging your presence and then replying, “Been a while, Y/N.”

You nod. “Michael, then.”

His smile is cold as he turns to face you fully. “Is it that you know me even though you haven’t actually met me yet?”

You grimace. “Nah, I just know  _ Dean _ that well.”

He laughed, leaning back and tilting his head toward the skies. So much like Dean. “Well, sweetheart, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but,” he spread his hands out then let them fall to his sides, “here we are.”

Fog rolled over the forest floor, slightly obscuring the ground. You shifted your weight between feet. “You here to give me a test, too?”

“No, I'm not.” The fog has begun to invade your personal space and fold over your shoes.

“Then why are you here?”

“We know you care about people. You may not think you do, but you do.” His tone was too knowing. He was leading up to something.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“We destroy, yes, but we also protect. Why do you think Bobby’s still alive?”

Your breath froze in your lungs. “Don’t you dare,” you warned with a growl.

“His property was swarmed with Croats three months ago. Luci and I came in and cleared them out.”

Rage flared in your throat. “Oh! Oh, how noble of you,” you cried sarcastically, flinging your arms wide, “But let’s not forget why the Croatoan virus exists in the first place!”

His smile, once cold – is now forced. “You are not listening to what I am saying.”

Your patience is thin. “What  _ are _ you saying, Michael?” You can no longer see the forest floor thanks to the creeping white.

“Do you honestly think those people on the radio have connections all over the world to get the information they broadcast?”

You do not like his tone. Nor what he is implying.

“Do you honestly think those people would survive if they tried to move from their compound?” His lips flatten and his jaw tightens as he tilts his head slightly.

Your breath stills as realization crashes into you. He’s been feeding them information, he’s been keeping them safe if they stay behind their walls, he knows you listen to the radio, he knows, he knows, he  _ knows- _ “Don’t. Don’t you dare hurt them, any of them.”

He gives a calculated shrug. “All I’m saying is that we can – and we will – protect and provide. Lucifer has Hell and I have Heaven.”

You blink and only then notice that the trees have been slowly fading into nothing. “Where is Castiel?”

“Safe.” His voice is… a little too calm; his answer, a little too quick.

It’s just you, him, and the fog. “Our friends and family?”

“Safe.” His eyes are sharp and predatory.

“How can I trust you?”

He smiles again. Cold and cruel. “Garth Fitzgerald the fourth.”

And then you wake up.


	9. [Sept 14th, 2016]

_ Garth is safe. Of course. _

__ _ BUT. He’s in the same FUCKING COMPUND as the radio show. _

Rubbing your forehead forcefully in frustration, you growl at the memory. No amount of convincing could sway Garth from his decision to stay in the compound.

His family was safe and that was all he cared about.

He couldn’t risk his family’s safety on what you understand to be true, but is realistically unable to be proved.

__ _ In a sense, I can understand his reasoning. He is safe, his family is safe, and everything is fine. _

__ _ Hell, he even tried to convince me to join him! _

__ _ It would have worked, too - if I hadn’t known the real reason why it was so safe. _

__ _ But a gilded cage is still a cage. _

You pause, swallowing some of your trepidation and roll your shoulders.

__ _ Worried about Castiel. I’ve been praying to him for several months now, but he doesn’t answer me. _

__ _ I was too scared to pray to him for a while after Detroit - for obvious reasons - but now, his radio silence is terrifying. _

__ _ I hope the reason he’s not answering is because he choosing not to. Not because he can’t. _

__ _ Please. Please, let it be that reason. _

__ _ Can’t handle it if wasn’t. _


	10. [Nov 8th, 2016]

It is quiet. Calm.

Your feet are bare as you walk through the maze of blooming white rose bushes. Twilight in this strange, beautiful garden.

You’re dreaming again. You can tell by the unfamiliar, soft clothes that you’re wearing.

Also, the fact that you can’t remember how you got here.

You turn a corner and stop with a start.

It’s Lucifer.

His long hair is brushed back behind his ears and wears a pristine, white suit with a red rose tucked into the breast pocket. Sam’s normally expressive face is mellowed out and almost smug from Lucifer’s angelic inhumanity. Even though he looks like Sam, his confidence and how he carries himself is so un-Sam-like that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you keep bothering me?”

Lucifer tilts his head at you. “Why do you keep running?”

“Because that’s what I’m good at,” you answered honestly. “Where’s Castiel?”

He inhales sharply. “He’s safe.”

“Why are you afraid of us?” The new voice makes you jump and face the newcomer. Michael had arrived.

He is dressed in a dark suit, opposite of Lucifer, with a blood red tie tucked under his vest. A pocket watch chain trails from his jacket pocket to his trouser pocket.

You narrow your eyes at the chain and look up at him. “You have a need for a timepiece?”

Michael seems thrown off balance as he looks to his pocket, then back up at you. He blinks in mock disappointment. “Really? That’s what you choose to fixate on?”

Shrugging, you offer, “Well… do you?”

“I really don’t think that’s what you should be focusing on,” Lucifer interjected.

“No, no, of course I should be focusing on inane details because this is a  _ dream _ . You’ve  _ dream _ -kidnapped me  _ again _ and I don’t appreciate it,” you snap fiercely, spinning to face him, “Now, what.  _ Do you want _ ?”

Michael smiles, a cruel and cold thing that slides over his face like a triumph. “Maybe we missed you.”

You scoff. “Sure, sure. That seems likely.”

“Why would it not?” Lucifer asked, moving to stand beside his brother.

“Because I don’t like you,” you sneered, crossing your arms tightly, “you destroyed the world, you manipulate the ones left living, you took my friends from me,” Lucifer closes his eyes in calm recollection and smiles gently, “and then, there’s the dream-kidnapping.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Please. You can’t kidnap someone if you join them in their dreams.”

Rage makes you see red. “Freddy FRIKKIN Kreuger did the same thing, asshole!” The air seems to cool by several degrees.

Lucifer opens his eyes and gives you a confused look. “Why do you think we would want to hurt you?”

“I dunno, maybe because you’ve killed over half the world?”

“We kill those that deserve to die,” Michael defends calmly, “all the people that escaped justice, all the people serving time for their crimes.”

“All the creatures you’ve hunted,” Lucifer adds, “all those wild things that wildly outnumber you.”

“Really, you should be thanking us,” Michael gloats with a lopsided grin and careful toss of his head as he began stalking a circle around you, “We’ve made the world a safer place!”

“Safer for the innocents,” Lucifer clarifies, walking a circle in the opposite direction as Michael.

“Hmm,” you muse, nodding as though you’re actually listening to whatever bullshit they’re saying, “Of course, of course… it’s just that, um….” You pause, wondering how best to end this conversation. You laugh, uncross your arms, and shake your head. “It’s just, um.”

Yeah, there’s no elegant way to leave.

So you bolt.

You run through the maze, imagining changes to the plants. Imagining a straight row of bushes that gradually fade to nothing. What you imagine becomes reality.

Well, dream-reality.

You run. 

You jump.

And you wake up.


	11. [Nov 13th, 2016]

__ _ You know… I hope someday we can all find peace. _

__ _ Between all the running and driving and hunting and surviving, I just… _

__ _ I’m tired. Bone tired. Of course, I HAVE to be so I can sleep without THEM coming into my dreams. _

__ _ They’re doing it more often now. The wards aren’t working like they used to. _

__ _ The most terrifying thing about this whole nightmare? _

__ _ When they hold me, I feel safe. I feel like it’s home. And I hate it. _

__ _ When they kiss me, it almost feels like love. _

__ _ Almost. Because I remember they’re not really there since I’m hiding from them. I remember they’re wearing my friends so they could destroy the world. I remember they’re archangels. I remember that one rules Hell and the other rules Heaven. _

_ I remember they can kill the world in a single blink. _

__ _ I remember that they’re insane. _


	12. [Nov 22nd, 2016]

__ ~~_ I dream sometimes. _ ~~

__ _ It’s stupid, but I remember the dreams like a fog when I wake up. Sometimes I feel warm and loved and not like two celestial beings from the dawn of time are obsessed with me. _

__ _ Sometimes I wake up and feel like someone crept into my room while I slept and ran their fingers through my hair. _

__ _ I’m in Maine, now. The winters are so cold here. Lousy planning on my part, but hey. Here I am. The fuckery never ends. _

__ _ Not like the state I’m in matters, anyway. I could be in China and they’d find me. I could be at the bottom of the Mariana Trench and they’d find me. I could be on Jupiter or Pluto or in Alpha Centuari and they’d STILL FUCKING FIND ME. _

__ _ I want them to leave me alone. _

__ _ I want Lucifer to stop channeling his inner ‘Phantom of the Opera’ and being dramatic in graveyards and gardens, playing a violin, and generally being The Father of Lies and The Angel of Music. I want him to stop dancing on moonlight with me, on rooftops and empty streets. _

__ _ I want Michael to stop waxing philosophical and taking me on long walks. He dances with me sometimes, too, but not as often as Lucifer.  _

The empty bed and breakfast has a lovely fireplace that you lit up and got going as soon as you picked the lock. The town is empty and the big Queen-Anne style building with the ‘VACANCY’ sign out front practically called your name.

After a thorough investigation, salting the doorways and windowsills, you started the fire and started boiling some water to wash your clothes in.

As empty as the town was, you were never fooled by the apparent quiet. Empty houses, abandoned cars, open doors, and dead plants are not a sign that the city itself is dead.

Things still survive. Things stay. Those things can get lonely.

Hungry.

Desperate.

_ I’ll stop by the hardware store on my way out tomorrow. Pick up some tools and boots. Maybe I’ll drop by the mall and pick up some clothes. Books, soap, toothpaste, and whatever else I’ve been lacking. _

_ I don’t feel safe here. It’ll do for the night, but tomorrow… tomorrow I’m moving south. _


	13. [Dec 24th, 2016]

__ _ It’s super fucking cold in this motel. I’ve got blankets piled up to my chin. _

__ _ Got some candles. I lit them all so it’ll at least look halfway like Christmas. Also drank about half the bottle of Jack already. At least the Jack did something to help warm me up. _

You lay your head down a moment to take in a few deep breaths. You’re on the first floor of a motel that somehow still has a working generator.

The heat is taking a while to kick in, but you smell the precursor to the heat getting on.

You hate this. You hate winter. You hate the isolation, but you avoid the communities you come across, fearing that someone there is waiting to lay eyes on you and pray to their overlords in the sky.

You sigh and you see your breath cloud in the air in front of you.

Then you force yourself to sit up, drink a ton of water, and finish your entry with as much softness as you can.

_ Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, Sam. Merry Christmas, Dean. Merry Christmas Cas, Bobby, and everyone else I’ve cared about. _

__ _ I guess I should include myself in that, too, huh? _

__ _ Merry Christmas to me. _


	14. [Jan 27th, 2017]

__ _ I see trees of green, red roses too _ _   
_ __ __ _ I see them bloom for me and you _ _   
_ __ __ _ And I think to myself: what a wonderful world _

Streaks of red arc across the dingy walls of the bar as the jukebox play the tinny music.

__ _ I see skies of blue and clouds of white _ _   
_ __ __ _ The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night _ _   
_ __ __ _ And I think to myself: what a wonderful world _

Five bodies litter the floor, two more haphazardly thrown over the stained pool table.

__ _ The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky _ _   
_ __ __ _ Are also on the faces of people going by _ _   
_ __ __ _ I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do _ _   
_ __ __ _ They're really saying I love you _

Your heaving breaths burn as you stare up at the flickering lights. Damn Croats. All you had done was pull into this dive of a bar to see if you could get some canned goods and these fuckers were just lying in wait for you.

__ _ I hear babies crying, I watch them grow _ _   
_ __ __ _ They'll learn much more than I'll never know _ _   
_ __ __ __ And I think to myself: what a wonderful world

You sigh and get to your feet, groaning at the effort. You grab some unopened bottles of whiskey and vodka, and step over the bodies on your way out.

_ Yes, I think to myself: what a wonderful wor- _

Louis Armstrong cuts off as the bar door slams behind you. Getting in the Impala, you lay the bottles on the floor and then sigh heavily, staring at the bar.

The steering wheel is cold under your bare hands.

Scoffing, you turn the key in the ignition and the car roars to life. “What a wonderful world,” you mutter sarcastically, and then start driving again.


	15. [Feb 11th, 2017]

_ I have spent. The last two days. _

_ Burying the bodies of all the angels I found slaughtered in a hotel. _

_ Seriously, I want to murder who ever was responsible for that. There were so many dead angels, their wings scorched into the rugs, the walls, the doors, the asphalt of the parking lot…. _

_ I didn’t count them. I didn’t want to count them. _

_ I just cleaned up someone’s mess and it took me SO FREAKING LONG. _

_ Maybe it was Michael and Lucifer, getting rid of some unruly angels. _

_ Whatever it was, I hate it. My hands are sore and bleeding. _

_ I’m gonna sleep for two days. _


	16. [April 2nd, 2017]

You are dreaming again. You look around and see there’s nothing but darkness and emptiness, yet you look down and can see your hands.

“All right.” Dean’s voice comes from behind you, but before you can turn around to face him, an iron grip curls around your forearm and spins you around. “Enough is enough.” His stolen green eyes blaze in the false light of the dreamscape, his expression furious. “Where are you?”

“Let,” you attempt to free yourself from his grasp by throwing yourself backwards, “go of me!”

“Tell us where you are-” Sam’s voice, Lucifer’s words.

You snap your attention to him. Exasperation floods your soul. “Oh, come on- you, too?!”

“-and he will let you go,” he finishes calmly. He stands a few feet away to your left.

“No!” You increase your efforts to escape, leaning back and losing your footing on the smooth floor as you try to push and pull away, “Fuck you! Fuck you both!”

“It’s been a year and a half since Sam and Dean gave themselves over to us,” Michael attempts to reason.

“Yeah! And 5 and a half billion people dead!”

“You’ve blocked us from entering your dreams,” Lucifer explains.

You scoff and shake your head furiously and shout, “Because I don’t feel safe in my own head!” 

Michael sighs and says, “You’re making things difficult, Y/N.”

Anger spikes in your chest. “I?! I’M making things difficult?!” Neither Michael nor Lucifer have moved from their original positions.

“Extremely. Now listen.”

Lucifer picks up where Michael leaves off, “We will give you three days. Three days to decide. We will extend this if you stop using the dream wards and let us in.”

Your teeth snap closed. “And if I don’t?”

“Then promises will be voided,” Michael answers, smoothly and calmly as though he is answering a question about the weather.

Lucifer leans closer and adds, “Peace will end.”

“War. With no victor.”

“Never-ending suffering.”

“Hunger,” Michael whispers.

“Panic,” Lucifer breathes, his breath ghosting over your face.

It’s all too much. “Stop,” you plead, closing your eyes and lowering your head, “Just- just stop. Why me?”

Lucifer smiles. “Because it had to be you.”

“You were made for this. For us.”

A cool hand slides soothingly over your shoulders. “We’ve waited thousands of years for you.”

“And we’re still waiting.”

Your breaths came faster and shorter, trying to process their words. Your brain can’t process the unsaid words or the implications. “Okay,” your voice cracks in your dread, “Okay, let me out. Let me out, just let me ou-”

* * *

You wake up gasping, clutching the starchy sheets over the stained motel mattress. The world is still dark outside the cracked window.

You know you will not get back to sleep any time soon.


	17. [April 4th, 2017]

Your back was aching when you went to sleep. It does not hurt now in the place that Michael and Lucifer built for you.

Opening your eyes, you survey the circular room and breathe in the welcoming air. The couch you are sitting on is comfortable and plush, and your clothes are finely tailored and smooth. Michael sits on one side of a couch across from you, wearing a suit and tie and sipping from a wine glass. Lucifer sits on the other side of the couch, resting his amber-filled glass tumbler on the armrest and watching you intently.

This place was designed to make you feel comfortable, to give you space. Your favorite vodka and a shot glass sit on the end-table nearest you.

You were not going to relax around the two archangels, but no matter how much dream-vodka you threw back, it would not affect your mind. Taking in a deep breath, you steel yourself and ask, “So. I didn’t put up the wards tonight. What now?”

Michael grins and makes a pleased noise in his throat. “You didn’t show last night.”

Like your absence was a spit in the face. Bastard.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you retort flatly.

Lucifer laughs gently and his teeth seem too white and sharp.

Sighing heavily, you look at the space between them and asked, “So. Why am I here?”

They both look at you, the perfect picture of innocence. Sipping his wine, Michael asks, “What do you mean?”

You scoff. “Um, how about explaining the ‘I'm made for this’? Or- or, ‘We've waited thousands of years for you’? Let's start with that.” Passive-aggression was never something that you understood, but your anger flares up so hotly that it all spills out.

Lucifer takes in a breath of mock understanding, “Oh! That! Of course, let us explain.”

Nodding, you take in a breath and say, “Please-  _ please _ do.” You take a shot of your vodka.

“Your soul,” Michael begins, resting his glass on the armrest, “resonates almost perfectly with our Grace.”

Lucifer nods once, as if this was all the information you would need.

You blink. “And for those of us who don’t speak angel-ese?” Looking at them pointedly, you shake your head in a way that asks them to clarify.

Michael rubs his forehead gently, as though he is trying to dramatically dispel a headache. “Oh, let’s see… a lot of you humans believe in this, ah… soulmates!” His demeanor lights up and he pulls his hand away from his face to reveal his grand smile as he remembers.

You blink. “I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you heard you right,” you set your glass down and scoot forward in your seat, “Your what now?”

“What he  _ meant _ to say,” Lucifer glares at his brother, “is that in a perfect world, you would have bonded with Sam and Dean - and then we arrived…”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “When you arrived, I was supposed to, what? Love you like I loved them?” You scoff as both Michael and Lucifer look to you in obvious agreement. Shaking your head, you argue, “That’s not how I work.”

Michael clicks his tongue and sets his wine glass down. “See,” he begins, rising to his feet and buttoning his jacket, “we weren’t asking.”

Lucifer’s face remains firmly smug and self-righteous.

Panic claws up your spine and you close your eyes.

* * *

Awaking with a start, sweat clings to your skin and you untwist your limbs from the bedsheets.

“Aw, hell, naw,” you mutter, scrubbing your face, “Not on my watch.”


	18. [June 6th, 2017]

_ I leave a trail of broken bones. Too many creatures in the world and not enough mercy in my heart. Too many closed caskets and hungry ghosts. _

_ I leave a trail of silence. Graves stop murmuring and house walls stop screaming. Too many mourners and shadows. _

_ I leave a trail of sorrow. My steps leave the ground barren with the salt that falls from my body. Too much truth on my tongue and steel in my teeth. _

_ I leave a trail of hate. Animals run from me and children hide behind their parents. Too much innocence lost and blood on my hands. _

_ With all the trails I’m leaving, I’m surprised that no one has picked it up sooner. _

_ Fucking demons. They’re stupid, selfish, and blindly loyal. _


	19. [July 30th, 2017]

__ _ I don’t recognize myself anymore. _

__ _ I feel… rabid. Feral. I’ve lost too much of myself to expect anything different. _

__ _ I don’t jump at noises anymore. I become an animal in the dark, ready to pounce. If there was another life in which I was a monster, I think I’m pretty close to it now. _

_ Fear can’t touch me - I’m beyond that. Alertness, caution, and suspicion are the only things I feel. _

__ _ Well. Anger, too. Unbridled rage. Hate, burning and toxic, touches my brain like an infection when I’m in a fight. _

__ _ I hate it. I hate the hate I feel. _

You pause, listening to the demons’ screeches echo throughout the halls. You’d gotten three - all of them had been tailing you, so you figured it was only fair.

Warded walls and doors, salted doorways and sills, iron chains, devil’s traps, and Chinese Water Torture with holy water….

It had been a few days, but you were patient.

One of them is going to give you what you wanted.

The only question is when.

You realize you hadn’t opened your mouth in several hours. You haven’t spoken in even longer.

You hesitate, then pick the pen up.

__ _ I barely talk anymore. Can’t stand my voice. _

__ _ It’s so cold, so detached, and I feel like it doesn’t belong to me. _

__ _ I drink some holy water every now and then to convince myself I’m still human. _

__ _ My paranoia has skyrocketed. _

__ _ I pray to Castiel once every Thursday at noon. Encouraging him, telling him I miss him, _

_ letting him know that it isn’t his fault. _

__

Sighing, you stop again and rub your forehead.

Then you turn your head to look out the window. Gentle rain and lumpy gray skies fill you with a sort of peace.

With effort, you pull yourself back and finish your entry.

__

__ _ I never wanted this. I never wanted to be alone. _

__ _ I never wanted to be hunted by angels who think I’m their soulmate. I never wanted to torture demons. _

__ _ I never wanted to exorcise an angel. Two angels, really. _

__ _ I never wanted this. _

__ _ Surely, this can’t be what God wanted to happen. _

__ _ He can’t have wanted 9/10 of the population dead. _

__ _ He can’t have wanted his children running amok and killing each other. _

__ _ He can’t have wanted this misery. _

__ _ He can’t. He just can’t. _


	20. [Aug 4th, 2017]

_ ‘Sing with me, sing for the years,’ _

Your stony expression had not changed for the last six shots of tequila you’ve taken, and it didn’t change for the seventh.

_ ‘Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears,’ _

You are properly drunk and can’t bring yourself to care.

_ ‘Sing with me, just for today,’ _

You are leaving tomorrow. Nothing can stop you.

_ ‘Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away…’ _

Fuck everything.

_ ‘Dream on,’ _

You inhale deeply…

_ ‘Dream on,’ _

And unleash an unholy scream that you’ve been keeping in for an unhealthy amount of time.

_ ‘Dream on,’ _

If you were going to die, you were going to die with fury in your lungs and victory singeing your fingertips.

_ ‘Dream on,’ _

You  _ are _ going to save your friends. And nothing is going to stop you.


	21. [Aug 18th, 2017]

You look up through the windshield at the city in the distance. Lights twinkle in the early evening and shimmer in the heat. You know the demons didn’t lie to you about them being here because you began to feel a tugging at your ribs about 10 miles away.

Los Angeles.

The City of Angels.

The irony makes you scowl. This was where they had shacked up - not in Detroit, where they had started out… but here, of all places.

Michael and Lucifer must either have found it hilarious or… or there was something here that drew them here.

Suddenly suspicious, you glance at your surroundings as best you can from inside the car. In the dark, everything looks more sinister, but you can’t see any eyes reflecting in the dwindling light. No feelings of being watched yet, but your guard remains solidly in place.

Starting up the car again, you shift gears and ride into the silent city.

* * *

It’s a little darker by the time you decide to park and the tugging feels like a rope tied around your chest being pulled at a slow, but constant rate by a tank.

Nature seems to have reclaimed this place; wild flowers sprawling over driveways and out of gutters. Tree saplings, thin and whip-strong, stand tall in abandoned playgrounds and breaking through the cracks in the road. Houses with broken windows and ruined foundations, tree roots rising out of the ground like mutant worms, and vines crawling up walls and covering windows.

The eerie silence makes your every move sound like it’s being transmitted over a loudspeaker.

Everyone is either dead or in hiding. Probably dead, in all reality.

Streetlights flicker. Most are burned out or broken, shattered glass still resting from where they fell months prior. Your boots scuff against the sidewalk cracks every now and then and you hear scuttling from odd places you can’t see.

The tugging becomes more insistent as you approach what looks like a five-star hotel. Something you could never have afforded before (and most CERTAINLY wouldn’t now, with the apocalypse and everything), but it would make sense for the two angelic Drama Queens™ to desire the most expensive, luxurious place to call home.

Climbing the stairs with a firm resolve, you feel eyes weighing heavily on you from the foliage. You don’t turn around.

You don’t turn around, even when you sense several more creatures join the first. Ever so calmly, you reach into your pocket and retrieve your phone. Tapping into the voice memo app without tearing your eyes from the looming front door, you begin playing the demon exorcism you had recorded a few weeks ago.

You don’t approach the building until the screaming behind you stops.

* * *

Standing before the angels who wear the faces of friends you haven’t seen in about a year, you hold your chin high and plant your feet a shoulder’s width apart. You stare them down, crossing your arms and not letting an ounce of weakness show.

It looks like every light in the hotel is on, casting brilliant shadows and illuminating the street quite well.

You are not afraid of them. You are not afraid of them. You are not afraid-

“Okay,” you say evenly, your less-than-used voice scratching along your throat, “I’m here. What happens now?”

Lucifer smirks and Michael laughs heartily, tilting his head back in enjoyment. His laughter bounces off alleyways and echoes down the empty streets. Then he calms himself and politely stops laughing at your expense. “Well, first of all,” the first archangel says, “that was a hell of an entrance. Ten outta ten.”

You blink, unamused. “Glad you liked it,” you say sourly, words feeling strange on your tongue. “I want-” your voice gives out on you suddenly. Quickly, you clear your throat and start again, “I want this to be over.”

“You want what to be over?”

“The killing. The Croatoan Virus. Demons and monsters having- *ahem* having free roam without anyone to stop them.” You pull your phone from your pocket and tap twice without looking at the screen. You know where the items you want are.

The angelic exorcism you had recorded into your memos begins blasting.

Dean and Sam’s faces contort in pain as Michael and Lucifer are slowly ripped from their vessels. Lucifer leans against the railing and presses the heel of his free hand against his temple. Michael manages to stay on his feet with some difficulty, lifting his eyes to glare Heaven’s wrath at you.

“You didn’t think this through,” he hissed, strained and angry.

You didn’t have a good comeback, so a good old-fashioned ‘fuck you,’ would have to do.

The exorcism was nearing its end and the two angels seemed about ready to unwillingly ascend. Watching with a mixture of smug satisfaction and pure hatred, their wings flare open and their faces turn skyward with roars of frustration and anger.

The audio ends and Sam and Dean collapse onto the steps.

Your mind short-circuits. They’re… gone. They’re really gone!

Holy shit, they’re gone!

Midnight chimes on a distant clock tower as Dean coughs and rolls over.

“Shit,” you whisper, shoving your phone into your pocket and dropping to your friend’s side.


	22. [Aug 19th, 2017]

“Hey,” you order unsympathetically as you lightly slap Dean’s cheek, “look at me.”

Sam groans and rubs his forehead as he keeps his eyes tightly closed, his long legs splayed out at odd angles.

Dean looks up you in a daze, not quite focusing on your face. He apparently recognizes you, because he smiles in relief and greets, “Hey, you….” His smile fades and he blinks faster, focusing better. “I thought I told you to leave.”

It dawns on you that Michael must have kept him asleep during his possession.

“What’s…” he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them and focusing extremely hard on your face. His expression becomes confused as he mutters, “What’s up with your face? You look so… angry? Older?”

You smile gently. “It’s been a while, Dean.”

He looks so lost as he tries to analyze what you haven’t said. Shaking his head, he glances around for Sam. “Sam!” Crawling over to his brother, Dean seems to notice the strange clothes they are both wearing. He glances at you and promises that he will ask for details later.

* * *

The hotel looks lovely, clean and luxurious; an absolute dream compared to the hellscape the world has devolved into.

Sam is not feeling well, so you and Dean help him into a room in the hotel you had confronted the archangels in front of. Yes, you realize it was technically Michael and Lucifer’s hotel, but it is too dark outside and you three are exhausted.

The younger Winchester gratefully flops onto the perfect bed and mumbles a ‘thank you’ to you and Dean… but mostly to you.

As you lead Dean to his room, he is unusually quiet and slows down, trying to keep you with him for as long as possible. Finally stopping at his door, he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment and stalls, “Uhm, look, I know it’s late and… it’s- it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, but….” He can’t even look you in the eyes, “Would you, uh, would you staywithmetonight? Just to sleep, I don’t know how Sam is sort of okay right now, but I’m- I’m not. Okay.”

Your heart breaks. Angelic possession is no picnic - obviously - but Dean was the kind of guy who took such pride in being unbreakable that when he said he wasn’t okay… you take notice.

Seeming to take your silence as hesitation, he panics a bit and clarifies, “It’s all so quiet, which should feel good, you know? I’ve got myself back, but it just feels… empty.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he looks up at you with a strange combination of hope and hopelessness. “I’ll stay tonight,” you answer, and his entire body relaxes from the tension he was holding and opens the door to his room.

You both shower separately (how the hotel has hot water is beyond you) and get into the king-sized bed at about 2 in the morning.

The lights turn off, you both settle in, and for the first time in a long time… you feel safe.

* * *

You are startled awake and your nerves are on full alert, energy feeling sharp in your brain.

Everything was quiet and calm. Dean’s even breathing next to you, his weight in the mattress, his heat, the softness of the blanket, and the warmth of the room seemed perfectly normal to you.

What had woken you up?

Everything is fine! Sam and Dean are alive and well, Lucifer and Michael have been banished to Heaven - and good luck to them getting vessels with the world hating them….

Wait… When angels gained and left their vessels, their grace flared in a flash of light and… was there a flash of light when you exorcised Michael and Lucifer?

… No. No, there hadn't been…

Then you realize that the tugging in your chest hasn’t gone away.

Dean inhales sharply as he wakes up and you hear him lift his head from the pillow to mumble sleepily, “Y’okay, Y/N?”

_Fuckfuckfuckshitfuck-_

You swallow and pray like you’ve never prayed before that you’re wrong. “I’m okay, Michael,” you whisper back.

He hums and lays back down.

For a moment, you think he’s too tired to properly process what you’ve referred to him as. Maybe you’re overreacting…. Maybe you did everything right and everything’s fine and you’re panicking for no reason-

Behind you, he starts shaking. You hear quiet chuckling. “Oh,” he sighs, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder, all pretend signs of weariness gone.

You think you’re going to cry. You think you’re going to scream. You think you’re going to wake up and this whole nightmare will have just been a nightmare and Sam and Dean will be back to normal.

Arms wrap around your body, holding you in place so you can’t run away. But you’re too afraid to run. “You always were such a clever little human.”

“Told you they’d figure it out,” Lucifer taunts, rising out of a space that couldn’t have held his body, “We didn’t blind them like we should have when we were expelled from the Winchesters.” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Michael purrs, running his fingers lightly against your neck as Lucifer settles in front of you, effectively caging you in, “you came to us.”

“That’s more than we ever could have hoped for,” Lucifer agrees happily.

You don’t think you’ve ever been more willing to die than right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This fic has been pretty popular (more so than I had ever thought it would be) and I was wondering if you had time for some questions?  
> I didn't expect Reader Inserts to be popular on AO3, but out of all my works, this is #2 in popularity, right behind 'Speaking Without Words.' What do you like about this fic? What caught your interest and what made you stay?  
> I'm genuinely curious because this was an experimental writing style for me and I wasn't predicting the attention it got to be... well, this much!


	23. [October 22, 2018]

_ I’m sorry. _

__ _ I’m so tired. I don’t have the energy to fight them anymore, I barely have the energy to write this entry. _

__ _ They won. Again. And again and again and a g a i n… they keep winning and they won’t stop winning. _

__ _ Bobby’s safe. Ellen, Jo, Ash, Garth (and his family), and Castiel are all safe. They’re as safe as they can be in this world, anyway. _

__ _ When Lucifer took me out for a walk in the garden last night, it was so peaceful and calm. Then he ruined it by telling me what the human population was currently at. Then he smiled that stupid smug smile he always has when he’s taken a piece of my dwindling hope. _

__ _ I know what I’d like to call him. But I don’t have the energy to. It’s just easier to not antagonize them. _

__ _ Easier to pretend. _

__ _ (easier to fucking lie down and let them do what they want to me. easier to keep everyone else safe if they’re focused on me. easier to tell myself that’s why they let me see garth and the others every two weeks. easier to let them calm me down when the panic crawls up my lungs and into my throat so i can’t even scream, i can’t even breathe…) _

__ _ I’m sorry. I can’t do it anymore. I slit my wrists and Lucifer held me until I stopped crying – which was hours after he turned back my body's clock and the blood slid back into my veins. _

__ _ They wouldn’t let me have a second of solitude or leave the bed for three days. _

__ _ They’re the kings now. Our rulers. _

__ _ There are no more heroes left. All the heroes are dead. Michael and Lucifer killed them and then came back to kiss me with blood still on their cheeks. _

__ _ no more heroes, no more hope, no more me, im sorry dean, im sorry sam, im sorry bobby, im sorry ellen, im sorry jo, im so fucking sorry that i can’t even feel anything when i hear your screams because you tried to save me too many times im sorry, they told you not to and you did it anyway. _

_ i am so. so. sorry. _

* * *

__ _ Good night, stars. Good night, moon. Good night gilded prison room. Kill the day and take the night, I pray I’ll see the morning light. If I don’t, oh fucking well… something, something, fuck you all. _

__ _ Good night, everyone. _

__ _ Everyone that’s left, anyway. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daaaa~  
> Thanks for giving this fic a try! Let me know what you thought - this story was more of a 'Get It Out of My Head' than a fully structured, plot-centric fic. I was trying something I don't usually do, but I hope you enjoyed it!


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